table © Jenny
ooc: Talitha, get your fine woman-flesh in hurr.

The loneliness was eating away at him.

He had had companions in the past. Pretty women, all of them - Delightful, wondrous creatures that had amazed and bewitched and fascinated the boy. He was a man now, but still easily taken under the spell of the Fae. Perhaps it was his curse to crave them with every inch of hot blood in his veins, till they broke his heart. Then, with this release, he could slowly rebuilt and move on.

Talitha Lykoi had not broken his heart. He thought of her more and more, when the cold nights crawled under his skin, and the man would dream of soft curves and horrible weeping. Memories colliding, but she had red eyes, the most beautiful and the most terrible red eyes he had ever seen.

The black jackal haunted his mind also, and he would pine for her as he did for the russet-hued witch. What horrible spells they had cast on his skin and his heart to make them crave to horrible, unfulfilled by the break of daylight. Food had no taste. The world was slowly seeping itself of color, while Caillen Winters wasted alone in its silence. The dampwoods were out to mock his existence - A weak sun had begun to melt the snow, which had once been a suitable cover for the ivory and slate brute. Now, they prey saw him coming, and his snares were often carried away by small rivers of half-melted sludge. He ate sparingly, but wanted the food less and less. It was not sustenance his life form required, but company.

Caillen was literally starving - Starving for the woman with the ruby gaze.

His body had lost its impressive glossiness. Mud had turned a luxuriously plush pelt to a messy carpet of dull browns and lackluster grey. The thick oily fat that had once sat in place over his muscles, giving the youth an attractive bulk, had all been absorbed by his body - Now the muscles were hard and lean, muscles of necessity. The wolf blood within him had tapped into a survival call, and it ran him in him now. Sometimes he hunted without being fully aware of his actions, and more and more the brute stuck to his lupus form, for it was faster for the kill of the slow-eyes doe, or the unwary hare.

A scraggly white beard, once trimmed neatly along with tan-tarnished locks, was now roguishly long. His fringe spilled in unruly locks over ice-blue eyes, filled always with that familiar hunger.

He waited for her, as he'd promised he would. Always, the waiting. Once or twice he had caught her scent, but always had the brute remained at a safe distance from the skull-lined borders. His immense size made scouting nearer almost impossible, and it was only desperation that had drawn him near to them this dusk. The pale sun was sinking lower and lower, bringing the wolfdog some much-required cover. His eyes moved erratically over the landscape. Perhaps today. Perhaps she would return to him today.

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Born from his mind, she arrived.

Her step was ghostly light, and she shifted before his eyes. The male remained still and silent, so much so that it seemed his granite body had indeed turned to stone. Only icy eyes traced her movement, the slim curves of her thin frame, the elegance of her haughty features.

The potential for him to be hallucinating her form was high, to a certain degree, and so the male showed no response to her appearance until the woman spoke. Her voice seemed to animate him to life - Tense, hardened muscles quivered with suppressed energy, giant frame charged by the sleek whisper of her throaty tone on the brisk air. It was her, in body. The woman's russet pelt was as dishevelled as his, although her glorious curls spilled unhindered about her serious face.

Twin rubies observed him from betwixt lashes, and Caillen was temporarily frozen by the fresh blood-red that he had seen in his sleep. A strange warmth and longing curled deep in his gut - A hunger that no food could satisfy.

"I had tae come," Husky voice, gravelly from disuse, scoured the air in response. He made no further explanation for his appearance so close to the borders of her territory, but remained regardless. Lupus form had been shed in favour of taller Optime form before she had arrived - Better for observing the approach of others. The navy scarf he constantly wore was shredded at its ends, but handing low beneath that was the same mysterious stag-pendant with stone as blue as his eyes. These eyes were watching her intently now from between strands of messy tan, unable to be drawn away as the princess stepped closer to his forbidden form.

Another ripple of energy made his muscles quiver, hackles shivering about his throat and between broad shoulder-blades. "I promised," Huge white incisors flashed at her in a rusty smile, but a smile nonetheless.

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It was not his place to approach her - Talitha was the witch, the holder of the cards and of all his attentions in this moment. Only she could make the choice to step further away from her beloved blood-drenched soil, and closer towards the man who embodied everything she had been trained to hate. He was Wolf, and he was Alien; He was Love and he was Happiness. He was Stupidity and Foolishness. He was Caillen Winters, son of the woman who had lain with her father on a growing night not so different from this one.

It seemed his words confused her. Caillen could trace the insecurities in her beautiful face, one uncertain emotion sliding into the next, a tumult of blood in her unblinking eyes. His gaze back calmly, acute with hunger - Sharpest, coolest blue. So different they were.

Finally, finally, her body obeyed his wishes and sought the nearness of his flesh. Delicate fingers reached out to stroke the side of his face; giant teeth which had been bared only a moment prior were sheathed again now as his body froze to the contact. Eyelids lowered slightly to the feather-light touch; This contact, it was what he craved so desperately. The holes loneliness had eaten within him no longer seemed so chasm-like, so gaping.

Slowly, that touch explored the line of his jaw, the thick plushness that instinctively guarded his throat, and then the navy material strung about that still. In health, it was a beautiful item of human clothing, but he wore it even now, muddied and torn. It reminded him of the parts that were not Wolf, of the memories that were beyond this silent forest and the woman with the blood in her gaze. It was his humanity, so cynical it might seem. And below that, her delicate fingers stroked the perfect silver of the stag, whose antlers held trapped within them the blue moon. The pendant alone remained unchanged, beautiful and brilliant. He could not look at it, though, for it reminded him of foul times and immense pain.

The stag was the sign of the Macha tribe - The people of Alaine Winters, his mother.

For all this time, his hands had remained obediently at his sides, but his body quivered to her touch like a jumpy stallion. When her head rested lightly against him, the brute could with-hold the urge no longer, and he slowly allowed the iron-chorded muscular arms to, so slowly, encircle her. His head lowered, maw resting in the mass of auburn hair that spun like glory from her head. He breathed in her scent deeply, arms tightening slightly about her delicate came. "I do nae break my promises," Came the rough brogue again, muffle by her hair. One large, claw-tipped hand lifted, and twirled some of the strands absently between calloused fingers. "But I would hae come, regardless. I wanted tae see ye again." The rough admittance was uttered for her ears alone.

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Her fingers wove through the muscles of his back, and the man's spine shivered for her, his eyes so painfully blue that they seemed to flare with electricity. This gaze was fixed so intently on the portrait of her face - Eyes that had seen a thousand faces, in his dreams and in his life - And she alone was etched into memory, writing the scripture of the subtle lines of her features on the blank parchment of who he was. Time would flow on when Talitha was no longer in his arms, but oh, he would think of her. Remember, and crave.

She pressed her face against his, and the young male inhaled sharply, his eyes shutting briefly so to heighten the sense of her claws kneading the skin buried deep beneath protective fur. The hot warmth of her breath spilled into his waiting ear, and the unbidden smile - lopsided, as was its comical want, but teeth so white and sharp - came back to dishevelled features. He did not reply but allowed her hands to roam about the navy material wrapped about his throat. Eyes watched her, expression bemused but allowing, as she stripped the human artifact from him. Beneath, the fur was clean and softest silver-white, unblemished as was the rest of his roguish frame.

A skin had been shed. There were few on this earth who he would have allowed to do such a thing, but the Lykoi woman was different. She slithered beneath his skin, and swam in his very blood. "Its th' queerest thing," He replied to her haughty compliment, large hands sliding to rest on the gentle curves of her hips, "But it would seem tae be that I cannae get you out of my head, Talitha Lykoi". That wolfish smile again, so hungry for her, "If it is my handsomeness tha' pleases ye, then I suppose I shall let it stay." Rusty baritone voice provoked her with its want for light humor, but his eyes were heavy. The loneliness was his disease, and she; She, the cure.

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Her apology washed over him, unfounded. There was no accusation in the male's icy eyes, only desire and the acute shadows of disorder and chaos, reflective of the churning spirit within. His mother had once taught him of spirits - Before this land, she had been a thoroughly religious woman. The spirits were the blood of her world, fragments of Dea and all that came to be. But Caillen's world had shattered a long time ago, splintering to reveal cracks of an inner being tossed by the turmoil his life had provided.

Now he sought simple things; To starve the loneliness that choked his thick throat was primary among them. But perhaps he had found his goddess, his Morrigan incarnate. Was the red-eyes hellion her? There had been another woman once, with eyes that dripped like fresh blood, and she had been cruel and cold. She had wanted to take his manhood, and with it, his life. There was another side of every coin, and perhaps Talitha was the reward for his suffering at the cruel hands of fate.

The contact with her silky fur and warm breath allowed him to believe she was real, and that for this moment, she could be his and his alone. It was a fleeting thing - They both knew the hybrid woman could not stay in the mountains with her vagabond sinner for long, forever. That was taboo, a wrong her people could kill for. Would it be his skull adorning their borders, or hers? Swift wings of rage flew through him at the thought. The barbarians would never hurt her, not while he was alive and lurking just beyond the safety of their precious territory. There was a fresh danger in the lean bulging muscles of his frame, in the slightly wild look to his eyes.

He would fight for Talitha. And, Dea be damned, he would win for her.

The woman's request provoked a soft grumble of assent, a rumbling deep in his chest that seemed to be the canine equivalent of a purr. Sharp white incisors smiled their agreement at the russet-hued woman. "If tha' is what ye wish, then I cannae deny ye," The baritone brogue was husky and low, and his arms drew her closer.

archive this soon and do ranty-thread?

She melted in his arms, and he felt the tension bleed from her body with his obedience to her desires. It amazed him, how easy the woman was to please with the simple courtesy of a courtier, an admirer. It was as though she had never been properly loved before - Not the romantic feelings he felt for her, anyway.

Caillen had never been deprived of 'love'. It was an emotion that had haunted his whole existence, and that was why she was so perfectly different, so wonderfully unique to him.

As she snuggled into his frame, the Wolfdog leaned his head gently against the soft curve of her cheek, and was content until he felt the unexpected wetness there. Immediately, the male pulled back, and although his touch was gentle one large hand moved to tilt her maw up towards him. "Oh, Talitha," A soft, endearing growl, concern sharpening the ice of his eyes. One tear was dashed from her cheek with a wickedly clawed finger, so carefully as though the salty fluid was magic. "Do nae do that, my sweet. Hae I upset ye? Smile for me again," The rough brogue of his baritone voice pleaded to her.

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His words transformed her, once again. She became blithe and bonny in his embrace, a tentative, wondrous creature. more powerful than even she could ever know. The feral-turned Wolfdog felt a deep stirring, the yawning hunger widening within him, and knew he wouldn't be able to resist it much longer. She was a flame to his volatile fuel, and being near her, touching her, felt like burning. It was a primal experience that he would never be able to begin to explain, something no other woman had pulled from him - Perhaps a culmination of the loneliness and the guilt and the mourning and the festering rage, combined potently to simper for her as he had longed for no other.

His hands broke free of her gentle grasp to draw her impossibly closer, knowing that she would be able to feel his body's need for her. It was a natural thing, and by the wild glaze of her ruby eyes the male could tell she would be compliant. "You are the most beautiful thing, Talitha," He sought to explore her, voice dark and hungry in contrast to the piercing blue of his eyes, "Feared goddess, Morrigan, you would be so jealous to see your creation now... Has she not your beauty, your charms?" He crooned, wanting her warmth and her heat to bring life back to his blood. "The tribes were foolish to hold her, so holy. You are more perfect than any deity, and you could be mine, for a while," All mine, said his heart, and he gave it to her with the blessing of the dark night and the warmth between her waiting thighs.